


Butter Me Up, Batter Me Down

by WaterMe



Series: The SpideyPool Holiday Special [2]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Canada Day, Crisco as Lube, Domestic Discipline, Fisting, Food Sex, Good Dom Peter Parker, Lingerie, M/M, Maple Syrup as Lube, Orgasm Denial, Service Kink, Spideypool Bingo 2020, Submissive Wade Wilson, We Do The Weird Stuff, bottom doesn’t orgasm, complete lack of aftercare, dominant peter parker, excessive Letterkenny references, get you one who can do both, pancakes as kink toys, seasonal butt plugs, top doesn’t orgasm, total dickhead Peter Parker, what kind of PWP is this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:00:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25037383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaterMe/pseuds/WaterMe
Summary: Peter found Wade in the kitchen clad only in a frilly apron, a few scraps of red lace, and a provocative splash of pancake batter. “Happy Canada Day, sir!” he said, and Peter’s knees almost buckled.Peter, being a caring and considerate boyfriend anddefinitelynot a limited edition Spider-Man RealDoll, stuttered out, “Is, uh, is that today?”
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Series: The SpideyPool Holiday Special [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1705225
Comments: 23
Kudos: 124
Collections: Isn't it Bromantic?, Spideypool Bingo 2020 Round 2





	Butter Me Up, Batter Me Down

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Y_ellow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Y_ellow/gifts).
  * Inspired by [He Was a Punk, Pete Did Tabletop Roleplay](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23076337) by [MsCaptainWinchester (rons_pigwidgeon)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rons_pigwidgeon/pseuds/MsCaptainWinchester). 



> Prompt fill for Spideypool Bingo 2020, ‘BDSM.’ 
> 
> As with the rest of the Holiday Special this can be read as a one-shot. That said, if you're all about sweetly submissive Wade and asshole dom Peter, [find out what happened on Arbor Day...](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23992903)
> 
> Inspired by “[He Was a Punk, Pete Did Tabletop Roleplay,](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23076337)” because it put in me a pressing need for a story where someone gets fisted on the kitchen counter with shortening.
> 
> Thanks to my beta army: [AnGoose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnGoose/pseuds/AnGoose) and [Vashoth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vashoth) for deluging me with Letterkenny references, and [Y_ellow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Y_ellow/) for bullying me into this (happy Canada Day to you!).

Peter found Wade in the kitchen clad only in a frilly apron, a few scraps of red lace, and a provocative splash of pancake batter. “Happy Canada Day, sir!” he said, and Peter’s knees almost buckled.

Peter, being a caring and considerate boyfriend and _definitely_ not a limited edition Spider-Man RealDoll, stuttered out, “Is, uh, is that today?”

“Yesterday, but that’s okay—‘Canada’ is an imperialist concept that was built on stolen lands and the genocide of Indigenous peoples, and thrives on an ongoing culture of colonialism. And that just doesn’t make great porn! So to celebrate I teleported up to the ole stomping grounds to chirp some pansy, counter-protesting Nazi fuck-dummies. Chirped ‘em so hard their traditional morals are gonna be eating through a tube till we cancel Thanksgiving!”

He beamed. Peter blinked.

“Anyway,” Wade continued, a little more subdued, “Wednesday is your busy day, and I didn’t want to give you anything else to worry about.” 

He turned from the stove and dropped fluidly to his knees, more graceful than a man of his bulk wearing an apron with an homage to Céline Dion in the form of printed photo collage had any right to be. He bit his lip as he looked at the floor. 

“It’s just been a while since…” he started. Then, eyes hopeful, “I just figured maybe I could take some stress off you, sir. Be your perfect little house-spouse while you're at work today.” 

Peter felt that cozy, squirming combination of complete adoration and utter guilt that any old slob could replicate, but only a Parker could master. He stepped in and pulled Wade’s face firmly into the front of his slacks, feeling the other man go heavy against him. “Your owner’s been neglecting you, hasn’t he, honey?”

Wade blanched. “No! I love taking care of you! You know I do! You work so hard, and I know when I take charge it makes it easier for you, and—”

“Stop."

Wade’s mouth snapped shut.

“Good boy,” Peter said, relishing how quickly Wade relaxed at the words. “Sweetheart, all this time and you still don’t know what you are? You’re stress relief, baby.”

Wade gave a helpless little moan and Peter squeezed him in just a little tighter before tapping him twice on the back. 

“Rescue your pancakes and then get on the counter for me.”

Wade looked over and went pale. _"Babies!_ Babies, I'm sorry!" he squeaked as he rushed over to pull his dearly departed cakes-turned-pucks off the stove. Peter slipped into the bedroom. 

By the time he got back Wade was sitting daintily on the counter, hands folded on his knee and legs crossed at the ankle. He wiggled happily as Peter crowded in, pushing his legs open.

“These are nice,” Peter murmured, running his hands up Wade’s sheer red and white stockings. “This the set I got you for Christmas?”

“Yes, sir!” Wade preened. “Good for every occasion! Well. Christmas… and Valentine’s Day… and St. Patty’s if you’re Protestant… and—”

Peter cut him off with a jangle of hardware. Wade’s eyes locked on the thick leather collar in Peter’s hand, like a pup sitting pretty for a treat. Peter raised a playful eyebrow. “Want this, bitch?”

Wade squealed. “You know I do, sir!” 

Peter grinned, taking a few extra moments to run his hand over Wade’s cheeks and neck as he buckled him into the black leather.

His fingers continued down, sweetly caressing the ridges and divots of scarred skin before dipping along the lace band of Wade’s fucking adorable bralette and into the sides of the apron in search of delicate, vulnerable—

Metal? 

“What do we have here?” Peter asked, loosening the neck ties of the apron and gathering the fabric with curious fingers to reveal… “Maple leaf nipple shields?” Peeking coyly out from flimsy red lace were two shiny leaves, held firmly in place by thick silver barbells. He flicked one. Wade moaned, desperately. “Did you… holy shit, babe, did you pierce your own nipples this morning?”

“Do you like ‘em, sir?” Wade panted.

Peter fingered the little barbells and then _twisted,_ hesitantly at first, and then harder. Wade keened, gripping the edge of the countertop so hard it started to creak.

“How long will they last?” whispered Peter.

“If… fuck, _fuck…_ if my body pushes ‘em out I’ll—holy nun-fucking _dickhole_ —I’ll redo ‘em before you get home.”

Peter bit his lip and gave the precious metal a farewell tweak, hard enough that he halfway expected to get shot in the eye with Grade B syrup. He pushed a gasping Wade onto his back and manipulated his obliging limbs into a pleasing position. “One foot on each of my shoulders, there you go.”

He trailed his fingers down the stockings, over the darling little bows decorating the garter straps, and to the crotchless lace panties that framed and displayed Wade’s shapely, undefended ass. And perfectly framed by that glorious ass was the twinkle of yet another surprise.

“Is that… is that a bejeweled Canadian flag butt plug?” 

Wade nodded enthusiastically. “I almost went with the Mountie dildo, but the brim on that hat looked a little ouchy even for me. The Canadian model is a little bigger than the American, much lower population density, _and_ it comes with universal healthcare. And by ‘universal healthcare’ I mean ‘a mobile app that I already installed and connected on your phone so you can control the vibrator remotely.’ ”

Peter took a deep breath as every single blood cell in his entire body rushed straight to his crotch. He tentatively nudged the glittering metal. 

Batting his eyes enticingly, Wade cooed, “Bet the government can’t fuck me as hard as you can, sir.” 

Peter swallowed hard, reminded himself firmly that he was the Dom and he was In Charge, then looked up at Wade with a cheeky grin. “Bet you’re right. And hey—you have a head start!”

“Head start?” asked Wade.

“Well, yeah!” said Peter. “I have to be out the door in fifteen minutes. If you can take my fist before then, I’ll let you come.”

Wade’s head hit the counter with a _thunk._ “Siiiiiir,” he whined.

“Sorry, didn’t quite catch that…”

Wade screwed his eyes shut. “I said, please sir, get up my ass like I’m Justin Trudeau and you’re my constituents.”

Peter grinned. “Good answer!” 

He slid a nitrile glove out of his back pocket and pulled it on—they did _not_ want a repeat of the Thanksgiving Incident. He scanned the countertop, spotted his prize, and his grin grew even bigger. Wade groaned and threw his arm over his face.

“Don’t be like that,” Peter tsked as he grabbed the maple syrup. “I’m _trying_ to help my sweet little Aero bar celebrate his _heritage.”_ Wade jumped at the first cool drizzle, yelping when Peter leaned down to swirl his tongue around the head. Peter laughed. “And I’m being _so very nice_ and letting my boy touch his dumb little cock.”

Wade reached down gingerly, doubt written across his face. “Thank you, sir,” he said dutifully, taking himself in a firm overhand grip. At the first slick stroke of foreskin over head, he made a surprised sound. “Huh! This is… this works _way_ better as lube than I expected. This is the best thing since All Dressed chips, I should have tried this _years_ ago!” His hand sped up as he relaxed into the counter.

Peter smiled as he pulled out the plug and poured more syrup over his fingers. The heavy stainless steel was ambitiously girthy, and two fingers slid in easily to replace it. He added a third with a satisfying stretch (and an even more satisfying moan from Wade), pumping them slowly. “See? I’m nice. I’m the nice one.” 

Wade gave him a dubious look, so Peter nailed his prostate. Hard. Wade yelped. “You’re the nice one! You’re the nice one, sir!” 

His hand stuttered on his cock, and then stuttered again. He looked down in horror, then back up at Peter.

“Don’t you dare fucking stop. Don’t slow down,” said Peter. There was a little more drag on his fingers with each thrust into Wade, and wasn’t _that_ just interesting?

“Please, sir,” gasped Wade, hand moving stickily on his cock. Poor thing was starting to look a bit chafed. “Please, I need lube, _please,_ more syrup, spit on me, drown me in bagged milk, _anything.”_

Peter sighed dramatically. “Fine, if you want to be ten ply about it. Where’s the Crisco?”

Wade shot up _much_ further and faster than he should have been able to with Peter halfway to a German knuckle cake. “Nope. Veto, safeword, absolutely _not._ ”

“But it’s a classic,” pouted Peter.

“Don’t care,” Wade snapped as he fumbled for the butter. “You ain’t putting that petroleum-margarine bullshit between these all-natural Canadian flapjacks. Grass-fed, ethically sourced, artisanally-churned bovine titty juice, or _nothin'._ ”

With a rebellious mutter of, “How about _nothin',_ then,” Peter smacked Wade’s grabby little hand away from the moose shaped butter dish. He pulled carelessly out of Wade and grabbed a generous handful before shoving four fingers back in. Wade _howled._

“Keep that hand moving,” taunted Peter. 

Wade whined, pumping himself in short, frantic jerks that tugged on his tacky foreskin. He was long past even _trying_ to stroke; all he could do was shift sticky skin awkwardly under sticky fingers in time with Peter’s thrusts. 

It looked _incredibly_ uncomfortable. 

Peter had a sudden need to adjust himself in his pants.

“Please, sir, _please,_ can I have—?”

“Nope,” snapped Peter. “Don’t stop.” Wade whimpered, and, with an eye roll, Peter grabbed a few pancakes and shoved them, dry, into Wade’s mouth. Ah, sweet, syrupy silence.

Collapsing his fingers, he _pushed,_ all four fingers disappearing as his knuckles bullied their way into Wade’s overstretched hole. Wade screamed behind his Atkins-incompatible gag. 

“This is nice,” said Peter, pleasantly. “A nice, quiet breakfast together. We should do this more often.”

He fucked Wade with his hand until the resistant muscle started to ease around his palm, then pulled back. After a quick buttering up he pushed back in, collapsing his fingers and tucking his thumb. He met Wade’s eyes.

“Is this what my eager little beaver wanted? To be a sweet, accommodating house-spouse for his sir?”

Wade grunted through the pancakes, something that sure sounded a lot like ‘please.’ Peter raised his eyebrow. Wade nodded.

Peter didn’t have to push fast. He didn’t have to push hard. He just had to _push,_ to lean his weight slowly into Wade’s body until it parted before him like, well. Like butter. Prying Wade open with his thumb knuckle was a thrill, but it wasn’t _quite_ his favorite part. No, his favorite part was right after, when Wade thought he’d gotten through the worst of it. And then the widest part of Peter’s hand kept _going_ for a good two inches, holding him open as bony knuckles nudged deeper and deeper until finally, _finally,_ Wade’s poor, victimized asshole tightened around his wrist with a pop.

Peter stared transfixed at the point where black nitrile was almost consumed by swollen pink flesh. For a long, tranquil moment, the world was still.

He was pulled back to himself by Wade’s desperate, muffled begging, and the _schlick, schlick_ of his hand moving painfully fast on the red, chafed skin of his cock. Peter frowned. “You want to come?” he asked.

Wade thrashed and begged. Gosh, he was _pretty_ when he was desperate.

“Off,” said Peter, and Wade’s hand ripped away from his dick like velcro, sound effect included. Peter looked over Wade’s shoulder at the clock, then clucked his tongue. “Sure is too bad that I was supposed to be out the door five minutes ago, huh?”

Wade made a hurt, questioning sound. His pleading eyes met Peter’s as if to say, ‘Are you _fucking_ kidding me?’

Peter grinned.

Wade burst into tears.

Peter laughed and kissed Wade’s nose, saying, “Give me a push, sweetheart,” as he pulled out his hand with an obscene _squelch._ He snagged the plug and pushed it back in, admiring the way Wade’s sad, twitching asshole made the flag flutter.

Wade sobbed, and Peter cooed and leaned in to kiss the salt off his cheek.

“Now,” Peter said, “I am very greasy and very sticky and _very_ late, so I’m going to go change and wash up. Get yourself together so you can give me a kiss on my way out the door, dear.”

“ ‘eth, Thir,” mumbled Wade, sadly.

“And?”

“Than’oo, Thir.”

"There's my sweet little stress ball," Peter cooed. As he turned away, he heard Wade spitting out pancakes and muttering despondently.

“Everyone thinks he’s the nice one. ‘Oh, boo hoo, poor little Peter. That meanie Wade is such a _bad dad!’_ Are you seeing this? Are you people _seeing this_ right now? Rated E for ‘ _everyone can suck my balls._ ’ ”

Peter poked his head out of the bedroom. “Are you saying I’m not nice?” he asked sweetly.

Wade froze, one foot on the floor and one knee still on the countertop. “No, sir! You’re plenty nice! _So_ nice!”

Peter shook his head as he grabbed Wade’s phone off the bedside table. This was going to make him an extra minute or two late, but… worth it.

He was pleasantly surprised to be greeted at the door by a sweetly beaming house-spouse (even if said spouse’s apron was a little wrinkled and a lot oily, and even if he was walking like he'd had sweet, sweet relations with a grizzly bear). Wade eagerly presented him with an obnoxiously plaid lunch box and matching (but somehow still clashing) thermos.

“Pancakes to go, a couple hand rolls, a smoked salmon sammie, and a good ole Timmy’s double double!”

“You… you made me sushi?” Peter stammered, eyes wide.

“Vancouver specialty,” Wade beamed. “Gotta keep my owner in tip-top shape if I want him to tippity-top me tonight!”

“You know it, baby,” said Peter, unable to hold back from crowding Wade against the wall. He tucked Wade’s phone into an apron pocket while tugging on an earlobe with his teeth. Wade sighed happily. “Anything you want.”

“Can we have pancakes for dinner again?”

“If you make ‘em.”

“Can I wear my slutty Wolverine cosplay?”

“You _better_ have it on when I walk in that door.”

“Will you fuck me with the life-sized Old Yellow Top dildo?”

“Until you cry.”

“Will you film me getting knotted by the Sasquatch dick while eating pancakes and wearing the slutty Wolverine cosplay so I can send it to Logan and wish him a Happy Canada Day through my tears?”

Peter threw back his head and laughed. “Whatever you want. I gotta _go,_ though, I’m so late. You wanna keep wearing this while I'm gone?” he touched Wade’s collar and got a nod in return. He grinned. “That's what I hoped you'd say. Knees.”

Wade’s descent to his knees was far shakier than it had been when they started their morning, but it made an even more engaging picture. Peter stepped in and let Wade rest his face on his thigh. Sure, his work slacks would look like they'd starred in a porno called ‘I Can’t Believe It’s Not Bukkake,’ but oh well. Totally worth it.

“Here’s how it’s gonna go,” he murmured. Wade melted against him, sweeter than cream. “You’re going to clean the kitchen and think about what a nasty, filthy boy you are. You’re going to shower, and touch yourself, and you're _not_ going to come if you know what's good for you.” 

Wade made a tiny wounded noise and dug his face harder against Peter. Good thing Peter always hated these slacks, anyway.

Peter pet Wade’s head as he continued. “After you shower, you’re going to take a nap. You're going to have a long bath, and you're going to get yourself extra pretty for me before you start dinner. Text me for further instructions before each step. Every time you’re good”—he tapped a button on his phone, and Wade stiffened with a startled moan as the vibrator clicked on—“I’ll do something nice. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” whispered Wade.

“And if that's not enough to keep your dumb, pretty head occupied, you're gonna text or call me right away, right?”

Wade nodded against him. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

“Love you, honey.”

“I love you, sir."

Peter smiled. Wade wasn’t the only one who had a few surprises up his sleeve. His thumb sped over the keyboard of his phone and he hit _send_ without even having to look. It wasn’t the message that counted. It was— 

The hallowing sound of a moose mating call resonated into their foyer. Wade looked like he was stuck somewhere between adoration, bliss, and hysteria. 

_**Text from Spider-Bae:** _  
_Happy not-Canada Day to the best little house-spouse ever._ _  
__I’m gonna spank the shit out of you when I get home xoxo_

(and he did)

**Author's Note:**

> **Don't touch that dial! The Spideypool Holiday Special will return tomorrow with even more gratuitous displays of patriotism…**


End file.
